The Morning After
by George Stark II
Summary: A House/Wilson slash fic set directly after the season six finale. There will be eight chapters, two posted each day.
1. 1 House

**Summary**: A House/Wilson slash fic set directly after the season six finale. There will be eight chapters, two posted each day.

**Disclaimer:** I do not on House or any of the characters. If I did, you wouldn't be reading this on fanfiction, you'd be watching it on TV.

**A/N:** I'm not sure what day it was supposed to be, so I've arbitrarily decided that, for the purposes of this fic, the season six finale occurred on a Saturday.

The Morning After

Greg House opened his eyes and looked at his clock. 7:35. Damn leg. Couldn't the thing learn not to wake him up early on Sundays?

He heard a soft murmur next to him and froze as the memories of last night came catching up to him. Giving Cuddy that book as a housewarming gift. Learning that she and Lucas were more than just moving in together. Her yelling at him to move on, she doesn't love him, she's moving on, Wilson's moving on...Hannah, the girl with the trapped leg. Convincing her to amputate, not turn out like him. The ambulance ride. The shouting match with Foreman. Going home. The Vicodin. And Cuddy...

Cuddy confessing she'd loved him all along, as much as she didn't want to, and he'd...he'd kissed her. He'd held her hand and kissed her, and then they'd gone into the bedroom.

House turned to look at the still-sleeping form next to him. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so relaxed. She didn't move except for the rise and fall of her chest; her face, often stern when aimed at him but sometimes laughing, was peaceful. He brushed some dark hairs out of her face, careful not to wake her. This was probably the first time in years she'd slept this late, Sunday and all. House sighed, watching her sleep, put his hand on her upper arm and chanced placing a scratchy kiss to her temple.

He cared about her. He wanted...for once...to do right by her. That's what he'd been going for when he'd given her the book, and now...he'd made a mistake. For years, they'd flirted back and forth, sometimes coming dangerously close to a relationship, to sex again, but never quite getting there.

Because it was a mistake.

Maybe before Mayfield, he might have let it happen because he'd been such a selfish jerk, and he might even have convinced himself he could fall in love with Lisa, but now...he'd been off Vicodin for nearly a year. He'd been trying to_ improve_ himself for nearly a year. And that meant showing that he cared for other people, not just himself. It meant...doing right by them.

Cuddy was a special woman. House had known her since medical school, wanted to pursue a relationship with her after their one night stand, but the timing had been off and he'd given up. But years later, she'd offered him a job when no one else would, not out of pity, but because she knew he was the best and she wanted the best. And because a part of her still liked him. And a part of him still loved her. A part of him would always love her.

But she deserved more than that. She deserved a man who would give her all of himself, love her and only her, not just be a good father to Rachel (though that was important, too), but truly love Lisa with all of his heart.

House knew he couldn't be that guy. His heart belonged to another. As much as he cared for Lisa Cuddy, even loved her, he could never be _in love_ with her. Pretending he was, giving in, starting a relationship wouldn't be fair to either of them.

No. He wasn't going to do this any more. Lisa had been right, last night. House needed to stop being a selfish jerk, stop keeping everyone around him as miserable as he was. If he allowed himself a relationship with Lisa, all that would accomplish would be to prevent the pair of them from being happy. He was going to stop. He'd been trying for a year to change, to become a better man, and he wasn't going to let one mistake set him back. He was going to fix this. Lisa deserved better, and so did he.

House got out of bed slowly and carefully, cursing himself for leaving his cane at the disaster site even though it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, and tried to pull clothes on without waking Lisa. He didn't know how much longer she'd sleep, so he hastily scribbled a note and left it on the nightstand, using her cell phone as a paperweight. Then House hesitated again. Knowing he might never have another chance, he placed a gentle kiss on Lisa's forehead, cupping her cheek with his palm. She smiled in her sleep and House felt a twinge of guilt for what he had to do. It was his fault. Yes, she'd confessed her love to him while he sat on the floor of his bathroom with Vicodin, but he'd been the one to kiss her.

But what could he do? He'd made a mistake; the adult thing to do was apologise and move on. He'd taken one night from Cuddy. It was better than months or years. He wasn't going to let everyone else put up with his selfishness and his foolish decisions anymore. He was going to take responsibility for his actions for once in his life. If what he had to do wouldn't upset her, Cuddy might even be proud of him.


	2. 2 Cuddy

Lisa Cuddy woke up to a gentle arm shaking her shoulder and a soft voice calling her first name. She opened her eyes and smiled up at the man sitting on the edge of the bed. At last, Greg. The man she'd secretly wished she were waking up to every morning instead of the one she'd had...but that was going to change, now. Now she'd wake up to Greg, the man she truly loved, every day, hopefully for the rest of her life.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"Morning," he replied. He wasn't smiling, but then again, he didn't smile often. He gestured for her to sit up, and when she did he handed her a cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee. "I got you a bagel, too," he said, nodding at the nightstand. "But I didn't know if you wanted butter or cream cheese, so..."

"Greg, that's so thoughtful," she said, continuing to smile at him.

He sighed. "Not really. It's..." he sighed again, looking at his knees. "Lisa, we need to talk."

Lisa felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Something was very wrong. "Sure," she said, putting her coffee on the nightstand and trying to keep her voice steady. She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "What do we need to talk about?"

Greg sighed again. He looked her in the eye. "Last night was a mistake," he said, firmly but gently. "It was my fault...you...poured your heart out to me, and I took advantage of your feelings for me. I mean, I was upset, I thought seriously about relapsing on drugs, I was vulnerable, but it's not an excuse. I was still capable of thinking straight, and I shouldn't–"

"–Greg, what are you talking about?" Lisa interrupted. She took his hand. He didn't resist, but he was no longer looking at her. "This...we've been building up to this for years. The...flirting..."

"It was just flirting," Greg said.

"No, it was more than that," she insisted. "House...Greg...there's been a chemistry between us. There always has. We've always had feelings for each other–"

"–I'm not in love with you," he stated, looking at her. He squeezed her fingers. "I care about you. I'm attracted to you, and you're important to me. I do...love you...in a way, Lisa. I'm just not in love with you. I know at the outset that I won't be able to be happy with you, and you won't be able to be happy with me. I'm just sorry that I didn't tell you last night, that I let this happen."

She stared at him, dumbfounded. What did he mean, not in love with her? For years, the exchange between them...him telling her at the '80s dance that he'd wanted her for more than just sex even back in college...trying to break her up with Lucas...it didn't make sense. But then...why would he be telling her this if it wasn't true? Was he just afraid of having his heart broken? They were still holding hands, and she took his in both of hers. "Greg, look at me," she requested.

He obliged.

"What's this about?" she asked. "Listen, I know it won't be easy, we'll have to work at it, but I'm willing to try–"

"–Lisa, listen to me," he said. "We can't do this. For a relationship to be successful, both parties have to be committed to making it work, both have to want it. That's why you ended it with Lucas...as much as you wanted to be with him, you knew it was a mistake because you were hung up on someone else. On me. You wasted months of your lives trying to make something work that couldn't because your heart wasn't completely in it. I don't want to do that to you, Lisa."

They were both silent for a moment, him looking at the floor, her at him. "You're..." she cleared her throat. "You're not in love with me because you're in love with someone else?"

He was still looking away. "I would have given us a shot if I weren't, Lisa, believe me. You were partially right. But as it is...I know I can't..."

"Who?" she asked, completely baffled. The only other woman he'd ever showed a true interest in was Stacy, and that had been years ago.

House sighed again. "I guess you deserve to know. I let it get this far, I owe you an explanation. It's Wilson, Lisa."

Lisa was very glad she hadn't taken a sip of coffee since the start of their conversation, because she would have spit it out all over House's bedspread if she had. "Wilson?" she repeated, almost thinking she'd heard wrong. "You're in love with Wilson?"

He inclined his head, and she almost laughed out loud.

"But he's a man! And you're straight!"

"Not...entirely," he admitted, shrugging. "Mostly, but...I mean Chase'll tell you that I've hit on him almost as often over the years as I have Cameron, and Wilson...especially since my detox, I've been...well, you get the idea."

"Does he know?" she asked incredulously, part of her wondering if House was pulling her leg. But he seemed so serious...

"I'm going to tell him," House explained. "I know he doesn't...he's with Sam, but...he should know." For the first time since his confession, he looked at Lisa again. "Last night you said I need to move on. You were right. I'm going to try. I'm trying to be...better. Wilson deserves to know. I don't know, but maybe telling him...maybe it'll help."

Lisa didn't know what to say. She'd let go of House's hand but resumed hugging her legs to her body. She stared straight ahead.

House was the one to break the silence. "I'm gonna go," he said without looking at her. "Drink your coffee—it'll get cold. I need to go talk to Wilson, it'll be at least an hour before I'm back. I'd offer to let you shower here, but there's a bunch of broken glass in the tub, so it's probably not the best idea."

She registered that he'd paused at the door to look at her, but she didn't return his gaze.


	3. 3 Sam

Samantha Carr awakened to her boyfriend pressing his lips to hers, and she grinned against his mouth. The lips pulled away, and she opened her eyes to see James's face inches from hers, smiling down at her.

"Good morning," he greeted.

"Well good morning," she replied, leaning up to join their lips again. They kissed passionately, fingers tanged in each other's hair, and kissing soon gave way to a wild round of lovemaking.

Sam hugged her pillow to her chest, grinning into it while James kissed her temple before rising to shower. She loved Sundays. Waking up to sex, knowing she didn't have to hold back her moaning because James had (_finally!_) kicked House out, and now she could even go back to sleep if she wanted.

She opted to get up, though, maybe she could get in a morning workout so she wouldn't have to feel guilty about eating a thorough brunch.

With this idea in mind, Sam got out of bed and changed into a tank top and sweatpants. She heard James turn on his hairdryer and smiled to herself as she made her way to the living room. As she passed House's old room, it occurred to her that they could convert it into an exercise space. That would be perfect! They could fit a treadmill or elliptical machine in there, and she could get one of those exercise balls, maybe put up some mirrors...Sam decided she would bring the idea up with James over brunch. He might not be immediately receptive—he still spoke of it as _House's_ room, as though the man were coming back—and might not be too enthused with the thought of giving it up. She shook her head at her boyfriend's uncanny attachment to the man and decided she would make a big show of having to move the living room furniture to make room for her exercise as a segue into the conversation.

Sam was about to stick on of her workout DVDs into the player when she heard a knock on the door. She frowned; visitors usually needed to be buzzed in—you couldn't get inside the building without a key, and they certainly weren't expecting anyone. It must be one of the neighbours.

"House!" she exclaimed when she opened the door, having to work hard to force her expression into a smile. "What a surprise!" 'Unpleasant surprise' would have been rude and 'pleasant surprise' would have been simply untrue, so Sam refrained from adding any adjectives at all. "We weren't expecting any visitors this morning."

"It's inconceivable how often pests make their way into your homes when you least expect them," House shrugged, stepping uninvited into the condo and flashing Sam a significant smile. She did not smile back. "Wilson home?" he continued predictably, heading into the kitchen as though he still lived there.

"He's just finishing his shower," she responded, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Listen, as...unexpected as it is to see you, I really don't think now's the best–"

"–Relax, I brought a peace offering," House interrupted, holding up a paper bag and a cup of coffee Sam had assumed were for him. "I don't know how you like your coffee but I know Wilson's got cream and sugar here if it needs adjustments. And a whole-wheat bagel—he mentioned you're a health nut. So let's drop the hostilities for the time being, all right?"

Sam was saved from having to respond by James coming down the hallway. "Hey," he said, looking from his best friend to his girlfriend and back again. "What's going on?"

"Wilson, just the man I wanted to see," House said, ignoring Sam. "We've gotta have a talk. Over breakfast okay?"

"Uh," he said in lieu of actually answering, still looking back and forth between House and Sam.

"I know you were probably planning on breakfast with your beloved so I thought ahead and brought something just for her," House continued, gesturing at the coffee and paper bag on the counter.

"Wow, that was thoughtful," James said, looking at House in surprise. Then he turned to Sam. "Do you mind if I grab breakfast with him?"

Yes, she minded very much. House did_ not_ live here anymore—the reason James had kicked him out in the first place was so he and Sam could have alone time. Letting House barge in here whenever he felt like it and kidnap James defeated the entire purpose. But she didn't want to look like the bad guy either. As much as she wished James would sever all ties with House, if he caught on as much, he would be resentful and just cling to House more.

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "You're an adult, James. You don't need my permission to get breakfast with your friend."

"Great, thanks," he responded, smiling at her and then at House. The two made their way past Sam out the door, James giving her half a peck on the cheek before leaving.


	4. 4 Wilson

James Wilson followed his best friend to his car, genuinely curious what the morning would bring. House was never the one to initiate serious talks. He avoided them like the plague. Wilson was quite glad Sam had been so willing to let them go; House wanted to talk now, but there was no guarantee he'd be so open the next time they saw each other.

"So where's your cane?" Wilson asked conversationally, a line appearing on his forehead as he watched his friend's extra-pronounced limp with concern.

"Left it at the disaster site. You can buy me a new one later. I'm hungry."

Wilson smiled to himself and rolled his eyes as they got in the car. He tried not to think about the last time House had left a cane at disaster site. Or the fact that that had also been the last cane Wilson had bought for him. Then he suddenly felt nervous, like something was going to change with his friend very soon. Why did a new cane always seem to accompany a big change in House's life?

Both men were quiet as they pulled into a pancake joint where House studied the menu like a white board. Wilson hesitated, unsure if he should wait for House to bring up the topic or initiate conversation himself. Even after setting the menu down on the table, House avoided Wilson's eye, and he decided to wait it out. It wasn't until the waitress took their orders (chocolate chip pancakes and bacon for House, vegetarian omelette and all right, a side of bacon for Wilson) and came back with their coffee that House made any attempt at communication at all. He cleared his throat.

Wilson looked at him. "So, you ready to tell me what you dragged me out here for?" He kept his tone light and friendly to try and make House feel comfortable.

House sighed and looked across the table at Wilson. "I slept with Cuddy."

Wilson choked on a sip of coffee, and House rolled his eyes as he coughed, whacking himself on the chest to recover. "When did this happen?"

"Last night."

"And you're having breakfast with me and not her because...?"

"It was a mistake," House answered, looking at the window rather than at Wilson. "She told me she broke it off with Lucas because she really loved me, so I kissed her, and...it was a mistake."

Wilson resisted the urge to reach across the table and squeeze his friend's hand in comfort. "I'm sorry, House," he sighed after a moment. "I know you really cared for her. So why did she say it was a mistake? Did something happen at the disaster site, or–"

"–She didn't say it was a mistake, I did," House cut him off, catching his eye for a moment. Then he sighed and looked at the table again. "She told me that she wanted to be with Lucas, but all she could think about was me. She loved him, but she wasn't in love with him. I...I love her, Wilson, but I'm not...in love with her."

Wilson was taken aback. House wasn't in love with Cuddy? All those years of flirting with her, all those times he tried to pursue a relationship with her...it didn't add up. "House, are you sure?" Wilson asked, knowing it was probably a stupid question. "I mean, there's always been a spark between you, and I know you care about each other. You moved in with Stacy after just a week; you couldn't have been in love with _her_ then. Have you thought about...trying it with Cuddy, seeing if being in a relationship with her will...I don't know...make you fall in love?"

"It won't," House insisted, staring at the salt shaker in the centre of the table. "It didn't work for Cuddy and Lucas."

"But that was different," Wilson pointed out. "Cuddy couldn't fall in love with Lucas because she was in love with you. You're not in love with anyone else, so..." he trailed off after the pointed look House gave him. "You...are in love with someone else?"

House didn't answer, just continued with the pointed look.

Wilson felt the heat rising to his face. Did that look mean what he thought it did? It couldn't, but...there had been times, definite times, especially over the last year, when he'd thought...when House had read Wilson's speech at the conference, amending it to express what he thought of the oncologist...when House had told Wilson he'd be alone if he died in the surgery, but had still shown up for it and hadn't left his bedside during recovery...and when Wilson had given him the organ...the look on his face when he saw what it was...but it didn't necessarily mean anything! Just because_ Wilson_ thought it did, didn't mean...he could be misinterpreting...people tend to do that when they...

Wilson cleared his throat. "Could you...say something, please?"

House's eyes appeared to be scanning Wilson's face. "Yes," he said eventually.

Helpful. "Yes what?"

"Yes, I'm in love with someone other than Cuddy." Again, the damn pointed look.

Wilson nodded, eyeing House carefully. He obviously didn't want to say it, but Wilson didn't want to assume...this was not something he wanted to be wrong about. "Can you tell me who it is?" Wilson requested.

House sighed and looked at the table. He shrugged.

"I'm going to need more of a confirmation than that."

"All right, fine, you're right," House admitted. "I came here to tell you, I'll tell you. It's you, all right Wilson? I...oh, fuck. You can't undo that." He sighed.

Wilson watched him across the table, fiddling with sugar packets, looking at anything except the best friend he'd just declared love to. Wilson's brain was working in overdrive. He didn't know what he was supposed to say...what he wanted to say.

Fortunately, the waitress appeared with their food, and both House and Wilson latched onto the distraction, cutting up their breakfast so they wouldn't have to look at each other.

"House," Wilson said gently after two unbearable minutes of silence.

The older man's eyes clicked onto his, and Wilson suddenly found speaking immensely difficult. He cleared his throat, said "uh," and leaned in closer to the table, lowering his voice.

"Do you...want...a relationship with me?" Wilson asked.

"That's not why I'm here," House said, sounding cross. "I'm not asking you for anything. You're with Sam. I get it. I told you because you should know, not because I expect you to..." he trailed off and shrugged.

"And that's not what I asked," Wilson pointed out gently. "House, look at me. Is a relationship with me what you want?"

"No," House spat, glaring, and Wilson knew his intense discomfort with the situation was causing his nastiness. "No, unlike the rest of humanity, I have no desire whatsoever to be in a relationship with the person I...'m in love with." He mumbled the last three and a half words.

For the second time in fifteen minutes Wilson felt an overwhelming urge to reach across the table and take his friend's hand. He resisted because he was scared. His heart was pounding in his chest. He stared at House's hand on the table, transfixed by it. And before he knew what was happening House's hand was clasped in his trembling fingers.

House looked from Wilson's hand to his face. "What are you doing?"

"I'm thinking," Wilson answered without looking at him. And it was true. His mind was racing at a million miles a minute. This was it. This was the moment he'd known was coming for months. Time for him to decide once and for all whether he would acknowledge the feelings he _knew_ were there...or apologise to House for not feeling the same, go home and fuck his girlfriend.

He couldn't deny it to himself any longer. He'd known from the moment he saw his friend's face looking down at him from a surgical observation room that he more than just loved him—he was _in love_ with him. The thought scared the shit out of him, but he knew it to be true. It was precisely _because_ he recognised and feared his feelings that he'd latched onto Sam. When that hadn't helped in the slightest, he'd kicked House out of the condo.

It was two weeks later and thoughts of House still consumed his mind even though he wasn't here. He still felt nothing for Samantha except regret that he hadn't cared enough about her to work harder at their marriage. Even the slight physical attraction had fizzled out after the first few times they'd had sex.

He was not happy with the relationship no matter how convincing his smile was. He knew he could put up with it indefinitely and just be quietly miserable, but this was an opportunity to break free of that. Could he try being with House? His heart beat wildly at the idea, in excitement or fear, he couldn't even tell.

"Wilson," House's voice interrupted.

Wilson looked at him.

"You're cutting off circulation to my fingers."

He let go of House's hand in surprise, only to thread his fingers through House's.

"Now what are you doing?" House asked, biting a piece of bacon with his free hand. "Still thinking?"

"No," Wilson answered, looking House in the eye. "Deciding."

House's eyes shifted to the table, coming to rest on their entwined fingers. "What are you deciding?"

"I want to be with you too," Wilson responded softly, stroking House's palm with his thumb.

House looked at him. "That's not why I–"

"–I know," Wilson said, looking softly at House. "But I'm sick of pretending I'm not in love with you, and I know the only way I can even have a chance at happiness is...admitting that I want to be with you...and then being with you."

House's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

Wilson squeezed his hand. "Yes."

House surveyed him. "All right," he said finally. "But I'm gonna need my hand back. My pancakes aren't gonna cut themselves."

Wilson gave House's hand another squeeze before letting go.

The meal continued in silence, exponentially less awkward than before, and this time they did look at each other from time to time, Wilson smiling shyly, House trying not to.


	5. 5 Wilson

Wilson, at House's insistence, made a pit stop on the way back to the condo to buy his friend a new cane. It amused Wilson how House teased him and called him a girl when he took his time buying things like ties and cookware, but House himself needed to inspect and reject most every piece of wood in the store before finding something he liked.

"What do you think?" House asked, holding up a black and silver cane.

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "You're asking my opinion?"

"I never said I would take it," House disclaimed quickly.

Wilson held a hand out for the cane and looked it over. "No," he decided. "It has a rounded handle. Get one with a flat handle, the kind that shapes to your hand. They're more sophisticated and it makes you seem less like an old man."

"You're saying this cane makes me look old?" House asked, bemused, taking it back.

Wilson tried to keep his nod serious, but a smirk broke through anyway. To his slight surprise, though, they left the store ten minutes later with a flat-handled cane in dark wood.

"So this one doesn't make me look old?" House asked, limping to the car.

"House, are you being self-conscious?" Wilson chuckled.

"No," House said quickly. "Just don't want you running off with someone younger and prettier five minutes after you agreed to be with me."

"House," Wilson said, looking him in the eye and stopping him. "That's not going to happen."

It was an intense couple of seconds before House finally looked away, using his new cane to help himself into the car.

"And for the record," Wilson continued as they started toward the condo, "I really do like that cane. You look sexy."

House wasn't looking at him. Wilson chanced a glance at his face. It looked like House was trying not to smile, but he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or a joke he was meant to be smiling at.

The drive continued in semi-comfortable silence. Wilson kept looking over at House when he thought he wasn't looking, and he was aware of House glancing at him every other minute or so when he thought he was watching the road.

Eventually they made it to the condo, where Wilson parked the car.

"So if you want," he said, deciding to take care of logistics, "You can go back to your place and get some stuff ready while I talk to Sam–" he groaned inwardly, not looking forward to that conversation, "–and then I can come by later this afternoon to pick up you and your stuff, take you back here."

House grinned. "Wish I could be a fly on the wall during that conversation. Think you could record it for me? I wanna see the look on her face when you're dumping her."

"House!" Wilson scolded. "That's not fair. She's a decent person."

"Doesn't change the fact I want to tell her 'I told you so.'"

Wilson gave him a sidelong glance. "You talked with her about dating me?"

"Not in so many words," House admitted. "I told her I'd 'outlast' her. Didn't mention the context, but I think she caught on that I was...I don't know, maybe it was women's intuition or something. Either that or she knew what I meant when I called her my 'enemy.' Anyway, we had an understanding. We both wanted you, she had you, and I...didn't."

For a moment Wilson didn't say anything. Then, heart pounding, he almost whispered, "You do now."

Their eyes met, watching each other. Wilson wasn't sure if he was the first one to lean forward or if he was subconsciously following House's lead, or if the silent communication caused simultaneous movement. All he knew was that his right hand was suddenly clenched to House's left, he was holding the back of House's neck, and House was cupping his cheek as they kissed over the centre console. Their lips had barely met when both mouths opened and House's tongue slipped in Wilson's mouth.

The first emotion Wilson felt was surprise. Though he'd fantasised about kissing House far more often than he'd admit, he'd imagined it...maybe not rough, but...he'd never dreamed it would be this...tender. Gentle. Even...loving. House's tongue explored slowly, familiarising itself with every surface inside Wilson's mouth. His hand held his face, fingers making small circles at the edge of his cheek near his ear. And the lips...they pressed against him so softly. Not hesitantly, but not...forcefully. This wasn't the fierce prelude to sex he'd always imagined. It didn't say you're hot I want you. It didn't say shut up and fuck me. It didn't even say I've been waiting so long for this baby I need you right now. It said I love you. I love you and I'm in love with you.

Wilson should have known that. House used the words "in love." Twice. But it was only now that it registered with Wilson what that really meant. House...really loved him. Last thing I think about at night and reason I wake up in the morning loved him. All those clichés that House couldn't stand...everything to him...love of his life...couldn't live without him...most important person in the world to him...loved him more than anything...they applied here. Being _in love_, really, truly _in love_, was the same for House as anyone else. And House was_ in love_ with Wilson. He knew it, he could feel it in what he knew without a doubt was the most romantic kiss of his life.

They parted just to breathe, foreheads pressed together so as not to lose contact before joining lips again. Wilson's tongue chased House's around his mouth, sliding across it, tasting maple syrup. He smiled against House's mouth without meaning to and promptly returned to kissing him.

Time disappeared. All Wilson was aware of was his body and House's, and everywhere they touched—mouths, hands, the back of House's neck, fingers in his hair, House's hand still stroking the side of his face. He couldn't imagine ever getting tired of this. He wanted, fervently, to be able to experience this, kiss House, feel House kissing him, every day for the rest of his life. He pressed his lips harder against House's, making the kiss more needy, more desperate, and House responded in kind.

He pulled away much too soon.

"No," Wilson protested, keeping a hold on House's hand and refusing to open his eyes. "I don't want to stop."

He heard House chuckle and opened his eyes because happy House moments were few and far in between and he didn't want to miss witnessing one.

"Have to," House explained, eyes smiling at Wilson. "Car sex is killer for my leg."

"Then just kiss me some more," Wilson begged, leaning forward again to press their lips together.

House indulged him for a minute—he got the distinct feeling, especially remembering how their first kiss made him feel, that House would like nothing more than to spend the whole day in the car necking with Wilson—before pulling away again.

"You're cheating on Sam," House reminded him. "Again. Get up there and dump her. I gotta get home...there's some stuff I need to take care of. Just...don't change your mind. You'd better at my apartment by six, and you'd better bring food."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Wilson murmured. He really wanted to kiss House again, but they'd been sitting in the car making out for over ten minutes, and as it was he'd need to talk himself down on the way upstairs so Sam wouldn't notice anything unusual about his appearance and get suspicious. And he knew at this point that even if he intended a simple peck on the lips it would turn into another ninety seconds of groping.

He smiled a goodbye to House as the older man got on his bike and he made his way upstairs to break up with his girlfriend.


	6. 6 Sam

Sam looked up when the door opened and James entered. Finally. Since when did it take so long to grab breakfast?

"Hey," she greeted, smiling a warm smile at him so he wouldn't catch on she was irritated.

"Hey," he responded, coming to join her on the couch. His expression was strange, strained, as though he really wanted to smile but was for some reason trying to remain serious. "What have you been up to?"

She shrugged. "Had breakfast, worked out, took a shower. You know, I was thinking we might turn the extra bedroom into an exercise space. That way we wouldn't have to move the coffee table every time I work out."

James sighed, looking at his lap. "Sam," he said seriously, "That's not going to happen."

Her face became serious as well, and she too looked away, sighing. "He's moving back in, isn't he?"

"There's...a bit more to it than that. Listen, Sam...I was really glad when you Facebooked me. It brought up all these memories of what we had together, and I really hoped we could find that again–"

She didn't even need to hear the rest of the sentence to know she was being dumped. That bastard. What had he told him? What lies had he concocted to take her James away from her? That asshole didn't deserve him. All he'd ever done was use James for his own selfish needs. Why couldn't he see that?

"–but even in spending all this time with you, I just don't feel the spark we had when we were younger. I know a part of me will always love you, Sam, but...I'm no longer in love with you. I'm sorry."

She watched him, and he looked at her. "What did he say to you?" she asked finally.

He looked taken aback. "What do you–"

"–James, I'm not an imbecile. You wake me up by making love to me, then you spend almost two hours with him, and as soon as you get back you break up with me. Obviously something happened."

"I've been thinking about this for awhile," James defended. "I just...haven't said anything before now...I thought I'd give it some time. I thought if we spent enough time together, I'd fall in love with you again. But I didn't, and...there's no point in continuing this way if I know I can't fall in love with you."

"Still, something he said brought his on," she argued. "This morning you were fine. Don't deny it, James—if he hadn't come over, we'd be eating brunch right now and you wouldn't have picked now to have this conversation, even if it has been on your mind awhile."

"I don't see how it makes any difference," he sighed, looking away again. "I'm sorry it couldn't work out, but...that's the way it is."

"No. I'm not buying that this is your idea. Two weeks ago you asked me to move in with you. You wouldn't have done that if you were planning on breaking up with me."

"I wasn't planning on it then," he pointed out. "Like I said, I hoped that by spending enough time with you–"

"–This is bullshit, James," she said, getting up and storming around. "Something_ happened_. This isn't you. This reeks of House's doing. He convinced you to break up with me. It's ridiculous. How long are you going to let that man control your life?"

"Hopefully until it ends," he responded, and then looked aghast at what he'd just said.

Sam gave a humourless chuckle. "So now he's brainwashing you. See sense, James. You can't be happy with him. You need a woman in your life. That man is obsessed with you, and now he's managed to convince you that's what you—what are you smiling at?"

James unsuccessfully tried to make his expression stoic again. He settled for staring at the floor. Sam reseated herself on the couch, staring at him. "James, what's he done to you?"

"Sam, quit blaming him," he replied, still smiling slightly. "He...this isn't his fault. It's mine. I..."

"James, you're straight," she reminded him, trying to look in his eye. "He's in love with you, which I'm guessing you've figured out by now, but you can't possibly be in love with him. James, I know he's your friend and you care about him, and you want to give him what he wants, but you can't make yourself gay any more than gay people can make themselves straight."

"Sam..." he sighed. "This isn't any of your business. And for the record, I've always been half-gay. I...I love him and I'm going to be with him. You and I are through. I'll give you the day to get your things organised and I'd be happy to help if you like, but I want your keys back. I'm sorry this has to end unpleasantly, but...it's over."

He got up, heading toward the bedroom, and she stared at him. She recalled that he'd never asked _House_ to give up his keys. How else could he have gotten in the building earlier?

Sam glanced down the hallway, where James had gone. Why was he doing this?

But she knew why. The man had always been a people-pleaser. He just couldn't say no. House had been taking advantage of that fact since she walked out, which she regretted doing now more than ever. James, for some inexplicable reason, cared for House, and all the man had to do was confess love for his best friend and he just couldn't say no. He wanted to make House happy, even if that meant denying who he was. It just hurt Sam that James was willing to give her up simply to please his friend.

She got up and went to the bedroom. She leaned against the door jamb, watching James strip the bed.

"James," she said softly, and he looked up from what he was doing to study her. She moved into the room and sat down on the exposed mattress. "Think about what you're doing," she pleaded, taking his hand. "Think about what you're giving up, and what you're getting in return. I understand that he's your best friend, I won't question that, but you can't love him the way you loved me, or your other ex wives. Is it worth sacrificing your happiness for his?"

He didn't jerk his hand away from her; he slipped it out gently. "I think the question is," he said gently, "'has it been worth sacrificing my happiness for years just to be the man everyone expects me to be?' And the answer is no, Sam. It's not that I can't love him the way I loved you and Bonnie and Julie, it's that I could never love you the way I love him. There's only one woman I've ever loved as much as him, and...she died. Sam, I...we kissed, and I...I'm not straight. I know I'm not. You want to know why I woke you up the way I did? I had a dream about_ him._ Have you ever noticed how when we were married, I would always call out your name during sex, but now I keep much quieter? It's so I won't accidentally say 'Greg.' I don't love you, Sam. I haven't loved you in almost twenty years. I want you to stop trying to talk me out of this. It's not going to work." And, without looking at her, he picked up the pile of sheets and walked resolutely out of the room.

She turned away from the door and wiped a couple of angry tears from her eyes. No, she wasn't going to cry. If James wanted to go fuck men, fine. It was his life. Sam was a smart, attractive woman. There were plenty of men—completely straight men—who would be happy to have her. She didn't deserve James, who would cheat on her twice. He would probably cheat on House, too. And she smiled as she thought this, getting up to gather her things, because_ he_ deserved that.


	7. 7 Cuddy

Lisa was not looking forward to going home. She wanted to see Rachel, of course, as well as shower and change, but she did not want to face Lucas.

Their conversation the night before had been brief—she'd been so anxious to get to House, tell him how she felt, but Lucas, sensing she was in such a great hurry, offered to watch Rachel for the night so she wouldn't have to scrounge for a last-minute babysitter. She knew she shouldn't have agreed, knowing the encounter this morning would be on the mortifying side of awkward, but needing to see House ASAP hadn't given her much of a choice.

And now it was worse because it turned out nothing was happening with House anyway. Nothing else, that was, she thought bitterly. But she couldn't be angry with him. He'd been so honest and open with her, so unlike him, and he'd genuinely apologised and genuinely meant it. He really was sorry he'd allowed the sex to happen. That forced Lisa to acknowledge that yes, the man had changed since Mayfield. House on Vicodin wouldn't have admitted that the sex was a mistake. He was_ trying_ to be better. And she had to appreciate that he'd stopped it when he had rather than attempting a relationship that could never work because he was in love with, of all people, _Wilson_.

That part was still hard to believe. She'd never thought of him as anything other than straight, but thinking back on his relationship with Wilson over the years, she could see that he wasn't lying. So he was going to _tell _Wilson (she had to admit, she wouldn't mind being a fly on the wall for that conversation), and then what? Wilson obviously wouldn't feel the same way, though Lisa hoped he wouldn't end the friendship over it; she didn't know what House would do if he did.

But the bigger question was what she would do. Should she try and salvage her relationship with Lucas? She didn't want to be alone, but could he forgive her for breaking up with him the day after she agreed to marry him? She could attribute it to cold feet, but that would be a downright lie. The fact was she always considered a relationship with House a possibility in the back of her mind. It had never occurred to her that he wouldn't want to be with her. She couldn't be happy with Lucas because she'd always known (or thought she'd known) that someone she loved more was there. But now that he wasn't an option for her anymore, was being with Lucas still settling? It wasn't that she didn't love him, it was just that she knew she would love House more.

But what if a similar idea occurred to House? He was on his way to tell Wilson he loved him, but Wilson was straight (though she reminded herself that she'd always thought House was straight, too) and wouldn't feel the same way. Would House change his mind and want her once Wilson rejected him?

Would she want him knowing his heart really belonged to Wilson?

No, she decided. She didn't want to be second best on his list, and she couldn't ask Lucas to do that for her either. She would go home, hug her daughter, and maybe someday she'd get over House and find another man she could love the way she loved him.

It wasn't the best prospect, but what else could she do? She still had Rachel, whom she loved more than she could love any man, and she had her job. For now, that would do. Lisa parked her car in her driveway and went to face her ex.


	8. 8 House

House didn't know if he was more impatient for the day to go by and Wilson to get here or relieved that his best-friend-turned-lover wasn't around to see the ridiculous smile that involuntarily took over his face every time it crossed his mind that his best friend was now his lover.

Packing his stuff took almost no time—half of it was still at Wilson's anyway, and all he really needed were his toiletries and half a suitcase of clothes. He wondered how it was going over at the condo, how Sam had taken the news and how much Wilson had told her. A small part of him worried, though he tried to push it out of his mind, that the manipulative harpy might change Wilson's mind again and the man might arrive tonight only to tell him he was staying with Sam after all.

But he refused to believe this. The way Wilson had kissed him in the car...he knew Wilson loved him. Wilson had to love him. Before Sam had come along, they'd practically been a couple. Taking cooking classes together, House being the one there for him during surgery and recovery, buying a condo sort of together, Wilson buying the organ...the man had even proposed marriage to House, though not seriously, of course. House wondered if deep inside, a part of Wilson had meant it.

Six o'clock couldn't arrive fast enough. Television could only keep him occupied for so long, and it reminded him of Wilson because they so frequently watched it together. Medical journals managed to take his mind off his impatience for a good hour until he inadvertently ran into a piece Wilson himself had written.

It wasn't that he didn't want to think of his best friend, it was just that every time the word 'Wilson' entered his brain he found himself daydreaming like a prepubescent girl. Mrs. Gregory Wilson. Ick!

"About time," he said when the apartment door finally opened at a quarter to six and Wilson entered with a pizza. "You haven't bought me a meal in like nine hours. Do you want me to starve or something?"

"You have my sincerest apologies," Wilson smiled, setting the pizza on the coffee table. "If I'd known you were only in love with me for the food I bring, I would have made sure to stop by with lunch, too."

"You should know these things, Wilson," House reprimanded, shaking a finger at him.

House _was _hungry, but Wilson sat down on the couch next to him and he was much more interested in tasting the inside of his mouth than the pizza he brought.

Wilson didn't complain when House decided that kissing was more important than eating. So what if the pizza got cold? That's what microwaves were for.

House started the kiss tenderly, like he had the first time, but the gentleness soon gave way to fervent, almost desperate movements of lips and tongue. He had a hand combing through Wilson's hair and another holding his waist, clenching the fabric of his shirt in his fingers. The younger man was no less eager. He had his arms wrapped around House in an embrace and was trying to get his tongue as far inside House's mouth as it would go. Both seemed to be trying to push the other onto his back on the couch, but since they were both resisting, they remained in a sitting position.

House eventually gave in, letting Wilson lie him down on the couch (it was more comfortable for his leg that way, anyway) and holding the younger man's body against his. He grew frustrated, though, when Wilson removed his swollen lips from House's and instead moved to kiss his throat, because_ he_ wanted to do that. He bit his lip to keep from groaning when Wilson sucked behind his ear. He manoeuvred his face so his mouth could reach any part of Wilson it could, and kiss him. He slowly moved his hand down Wilson's back until it reached his ass and squeezed. Wilson made a sound that was a half-moan, half-chuckle, against his skin before resuming their kiss.

Eventually Wilson got up, pulling away, much to House's displeasure. "We have to stop," he said, sounding intensely disappointed.

"Why?" House demanded.

Wilson blushed. "I can't do this another minute without it inadvertently turning into sex, and I...don't want my first time with you to be dry humping on the couch."

"So get your ass up and let's get into the bedroom," House said, still not seeing the dilemma.

"It's our _first time_," Wilson explained, as red as a cherry. "I want it to be...slow. We get in there...I promise you it won't be anything close."

"I don't care," said House bluntly. He sighed. "Wilson, there is a time and a place for slow sex. This is not it. Now get off me so I can get up and drag you to my bed. Now."

Wilson smiled sheepishly and did as he was told. His prediction came true, but at least they managed to remove their clothing first. Though he would never share his feelings with Wilson, House thought it was sort of romantic that their first time had been so desperate and rushed. They loved each other, wanted each other so much that they simply couldn't wait, literally couldn't take their time making love because they needed each other too much. And it certainly hadn't been lacking in passion.

House held onto Wilson, after, panting on the bed. He had a microwave. It didn't matter if he pizza got cold. He wanted to hold onto this, preferably forever.

**A/N: **Thank you for reading. If you liked it (or not) reviews are a great way to let me know (hint, hint).


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